


Scruitiny

by facetofcathy



Series: Jack Climbs in the Window [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Comment Fic, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-14
Updated: 2010-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetofcathy/pseuds/facetofcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:  James undresses Jack (or makes him undress, or finds him naked in his quarters), but keeps his own impeccable clothes on (didn't britches have buttons in, uh, essential places?) No humiliation though, please, just banter and joyful debauchery!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scruitiny

"Sir, there's a package for you in your office."

James nodded at the midshipman who'd delivered the message and turned away from the view. It was past time he went back to sailing his desk rather than haunting the battlements. James mused on the deportment of midshipmen, much deteriorated from his day of course, while he made his way inside. There, he'd be able to take the hell spawn of a wig off at least.

"Well then," James said, once he'd closed the door and carefully locked it. "No one told me the package had already been unwrapped."

"Commodore, me old mate, my fine, fine friend. I have come to throw myself upon your mercy."

Never a man to stint his duty, James stepped forward so he could see his guest more fully, for he couldn't manage to think of Jack Sparrow as a package when he was right there in front of him, lounging indolently in James' own chair. "I believe you've mistaken these offices for St. Peter's," James said, and Sparrow was indeed right in front of him; he was completely unclothed, saving out the scarf wound round his head. "Although I do believe one is meant to bare oneself to God in a more metaphorical way."

"Whereas you Navy chaps are generally more interested in the substantial flesh, eh love?"

"I assure you, _Captain_, that rumours about the nature of Naval life are not to be trusted." James took an inventory of Jack, not willing to assume he was still in possession of all his appendages, barring the obvious, until he'd checked thoroughly.

"Next, you'll be having me believe the rum runs scarce as well. I was thinking to sign meself up, but now I'm having second thoughts."

Jack looked well enough, perhaps a little leaner than a man with a regular berth should appear, but this was Jack, so regularity could never be assumed. He had more scars, more ink set into his skin as well, than James had ever seen on one man. "I could arrange for a press gang to come calling, if you're so eager to put to sea again," James said.

"A press gang, you say? Not one yet could snare Jack Sparrow." Jack sounded as proud and sure as any man in current possession of breeches would be.

He spied Jack's hat tipped jauntily against the window glass, and was relieved to know he was not going to suffer through lamentations on the loss of that article of clothing. But he thought the pirate may protest too much about his immunity to impression. "So that's the ill wind that blew a no good pirate into my office."

"Can a man down on his luck not visit an friend in a time of need? James, James, I thought we'd come to understand each other." Jack tipped his head to starboard, his body leaning heavily to port already, and he assayed a smile that managed to be charming but failed at innocence.

James nodded. "Right then, I'll just call in a few men and have them redeliver you to the cells. They've been rebuilt quite nicely, as you'll see."

"Attracting a better class of rat are they?"

James smiled coolly and turned to open the door.

"Now, James, you don't want to do that," Jack said quietly. The voice in one ear was competing for attention with the point of a blade resting just below the other, but the whole of Jack Sparrow pressed against his back won through and held him spellbound. Jack Sparrow was trying very hard to distract him. Very hard. But the question was, did Jack need the Commodore befuddled or was it James he was after?

"And what does a man such as yourself know of my wants?" James said.

"Your wants aren't hard to discern, James, not when a man knows where to look." Jack slid his off hand down the front of James' uniform, rings and baubles and bits of leather distracting the eye. Misdirection, it had to be, but Jack was a man to ensure his labours always brought rewards, so perhaps it was the Commodore and the man both the pirate was looking to occupy. Jack's hand kept descending while his own interest in the proceedings became more discernible, even through several layers of Naval wrappings.

"But I don't think yours have yet to be revealed," James said, and then gasped when Jack's hand cupped his hard prick and squeezed.

"I am a man bereft of concealment," Jack said.

"And yet, still inscrutable."

"Ah, if it's scrutiny, you require, James, just give me your word you'll not lay a hand on the door, and I'll let you look your fill." Jack backed off with the dagger point, but kept his hand tight around James' prick.

James wasn't surprised that Jack knew him well enough to know that an appeal to his honour would work where a threat to his person would not, if such a bargain as this could ever be said to made with honour. James considered his predicament, considered the fact that perhaps James would be better for not knowing what Jack was misdirecting the Commodore away from. He wanted that to be the reason he surrendered to the pirate's terms. He hoped it wasn't merely the rhythmic press of fingers against him. He feared it was the man himself, beguiling James and the Commodore both until they were equally his willing victims.

Jack, true to his word, stepped away from James, letting him turn and scrutinise at will.

"I'd rather you lost the blade," James said.

"This pit of pot metal?" Jack said, and tossed the balanced bit of steel up and caught it by the tip between his thumb and forefinger. "I'll agree on one condition."

James mistrusted the sly smile, not as much as the innocent one, but nearly. "Which is?"

"The wig has to come off, James. A man has standards, and Jack Sparrow will not fuck a man in a wig."

James ignored that provocative statement of intent and gave in to his whimsy, or perhaps the madness of arousal, and pulled the insufferably hot thing off, bowed low to Jack, and tossed it to land on the window sill beside Jack's hat. Jack returned his bow with a fluttery version that somehow managed to look sincere and tossed the dagger. It pierced James' wig, pinning it to the wooden sill.

"Is that what you intend to do, Jack, have your way with me?"

"Or you with me, James, me lad. I'm not much bothered with who climbs up the rigging, as long as the sail gets reefed."

"Anything else you want me to remove?" James asking stalking forward a pace.

Jack did not retreat, rather he raised an eyebrow and looked James up and down with such insolence as he'd never experienced, not even from Jack, and the sight of it heated his blood all the more. Jack Sparrow knew no propriety, bowed to no rules, and would take whatever pleasure he wanted from James. "I think I might die of old age waiting for you to rid yourself of that costume, love. Those breeches have buttons, do they not?"

James smiled at Jack, hoping it looked as wicked as it felt. He wrenched at the buttons in question, more than willing to have at this pirate in the uniform of the King's Royal Navy. "You'll never die of old age, Jack Sparrow," James said, and released himself from the confining cloth and had at his pirate.

"That's the plan, me lad," Jack said and let James bear him down onto the desk top. The giving way was another feint, for Jack had James entangled in his long limbs, his mouth captured and his tongue in a battle for supremacy that he feared he could never win.

This was not going to be a long drawn-out engagement, though the thought of Jack in his bed with the time to conduct this war at a more leisurely pace was a pleasant fantasy he thought to store away for some future day. James thrust against Jack, seeking the right alignment of their bodies. Jack wound his legs tighter around him, digging in his heels, steering him to the right course. Jack pulled him close and arched up to meet his thrusts with his own, and James let himself be led. The friction was delicious, almost pain, certain pleasure, and James was lost in the thrust of flesh, the taste of Jack's mouth, gold and spice, the smell of sandalwood in his hair. Jack arched up taut and shuddered under him, and James thrust harder into slickness. He took his pleasure in Jack while Jack crooned into his ear, "James, my beautiful James, my love."

It had been a long while since James had bedded someone who could lie to him so well.


End file.
